


Death Calling

by Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction



Series: The Monster Series Collection [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banshee!Reader, F/M, Spooktober, necromancer!bucky, spooktober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 21:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction/pseuds/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction
Summary: He’s a scary story, someone only the most superstitious or gossipy agents whisper about. You believed him to be just that until you met him to face to face.





	Death Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Death,  
> A/N: This is the seventh Monster!Character one shot for this Spooktober season!  
> If you want to request another Monster!Character, you can drop a comment on any of the fics in the Monster!Series Collection, giving me a prompt and/or telling me what Monster!Character you want to see! Please don't request Monster!Character I've already done (for example, demon!bucky or vampire!steve). You can request any character from the following universes: MCU, Mass Effect, X-Men, Harry Potter, Supernatural, and Dragon Age. Requesting something doesn't mean I'll choose it, but it doesn't hurt to ask!

[Originally posted by wintersthighs](https://tmblr.co/ZpgCLr2BOtcbs)

**Bucky’s POV**

Pain. So much pain. Unbearable. Wanting to scratch at the skin, make it bleed, tear it off, make it stop. 

But the arms won’t move. Arm. Only one. One gone, lost in the fall. 

_Make it stop make it stop make it stop_

“I can make the pain go away.”

The voice is silky smooth. Calm. How can he be calm when there’s so much pain?

_Please please please please_

“For a price.”

_Anything. Anything, make it stop make it stop make it stop-_

The agony recedes instantly and the room swims into view, dark and damp. Old stone walls with modern machinery. 

A man stands tall and proud, lording over all those around him. His smile is poisonous. Eyes darker than the moonless night. 

“Welcome home, Winter Soldier. I am Pierce. You shall serve Hydra well. You shall serve _me_ well.” 

Memories are gone, pain and empty spaces left in his mind, a shiny new metal arm to replace them.

He nods, not knowing what else to do.

This makes the demon smile. 

* * *

**Your POV**

Training was awful. You collapse on the couch of the apartment that SHIELD “graciously” lent you . Their programs make the army’s drills look like a walk in the park. 

You suppose it could be worse, though. It could be the middle of the summer or the dead of winter. At least October’s pretty alright, as far as weather goes, even if the threat of rain looms almost daily. 

In the middle of internally deliberating whether or not it’s be worth it to get up and shower before you fall asleep, there’s a knock at the door. You blink once, confused. You hadn’t given anyone your address, but SHIELD had placed you in a civilian building (something about undercover training, which ultimately meant wearing civilian clothes and smuggling all your equipment around in a backpack or duffel). The most likely cause is that a civilian has the wrong apartment. The lights are all off, so if you leave it alone long enough…

Sure enough, whoever was at the door doesn’t knock again and you relax. Awake again with the surge of adrenaline, you stand and head into the bathroom, dragging your feet perhaps a bit more than is necessary. 

He’s so still that you don’t see him right away. In fact, the only reason you see him at all is because light streaming in from outside reflects off his shiny metal arm. 

You lock eyes with his- cold, grey-blue, empty- and a chill runs down your spine. 

The Winter Soldier. 

The stories had always been just that- tales to explain seemingly impossible happenings in the world of espionage and spycraft. Even with magic in the world, the things that the Winter Soldier was rumored to have done were hard to fathom. One thing’s consistent, though: every description of him includes the metal arm with the blood red star on the shoulder. 

He moves and you open your mouth to scream, but he’s in front of you before you can even finish gathering the air in your lungs. The red star is all you can see now; it and his icy eyes freeze the blood in your veins. His right hand claps over your mouth and you try to fight him off, but he easily pins you to the ground. 

“You will serve,” he says in a raspy voice. The words sound awkward in his mouth, like he isn’t used to talking. 

And then his metal fist goes through your chest, right through the bone of your rib cage, and you _do_ scream, but it’s cut off abruptly when he squeezes your heart in his fist.

* * *

_Awaken._

_It’s dark_

_I know. Open your eyes._

Your eyes open without you telling them too, and the world slowly comes into view around you. 

Except it’s fuzzy around the edges. The only sharp thing you can see is the Winter Soldier, standing stoically in front of you, face unreadable.

But, for the first time since you spotted him, you understand him. 

_Pain. Pain. Pain. Lonely. Confused. Serve. Duty. Death. Regret._

“Stop looking.” 

Immediately the flood of emotions and thoughts cuts off and you stare at him. It took you a moment to realize you’re crying, but when the tears roll down your cheeks and off your chin they disappear into the air. They don’t reach the ground, which is more than a foot below where your feet are. Your body is still bleeding onto the ground below, deep red staining the wood. 

“Yes, you’re dead. And you will serve, banshee.” 

“Yessss, Necromancer,” you hear yourself say, voice ethereal, otherworldly. _Why are you in so much pain? Let me help you. You feel so much, deep down._

He must be able to hear you because his brow furrows and you see the first real flicker of emotion cross his face. 

“I killed you. Why do you think such foolish things?” he asks.

You tilt your head to the side as you hover in place, considering. _You were… conflicted. You **are** conflicted. You’re in so much pain. You think about the blank spaces in your mind and shudder at what might have been there. You don’t know which is worse; more horrors and death or that you might have been good once- truly, unequivocally good._

He stares at you for a long moment before his left hand- still covered in your blood- reaches up and cups your face gently, metal thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“Thank you, kind spirit. I…” he pauses, expression unsure. “You… are mine.” 

It isn’t a question, but you take it as one. 

You still smile at him, hand covering his as you nod. _Forever._

He tugs you down gently until you’re at eye level, then rests his forehead against yours, eyes brighter and more alive than they’ve been so far. 

“Forever then, my death singer.”

* * *

You sing for the Soldier for decades and the rumors and legends only grow. 

You sing for the death of Nicholas J. Fury, but the blond man with the SHIELD chases you and the Soldier away before his soul can be reaped. 

The paladin, the shield-bearer, the man whose soul is made of light. The one who makes the Soldier’s head hurt, makes the flashes of memory burn brighter than ever. 

The Soldier hesitates at the name the golden man uses for him and you pull him to safety before the man with wings like an angel and the fury with hair the color of fire can put him down for good. 

The Soldier can’t speak so you take him to the demon. You hate the demon. He hurts the Necromancer. More than once you’ve been afraid you’d have to sing for your beloved’s life. 

The demon interrogates him, hits him, but the Soldier’s mind is far away. You can see bits and pieces, and then you understand. He was made of light once, too, like the blond man. He suspects it, but his mind is too broken to truly consider it.

_You must go to them._

His eyes find you through the haze of his thoughts, sharpening instantly. _I won’t leave you. You are mine._

You stare at him sadly. _You suspect the truth already. Give the word and I will sing for the deaths of the ones who hurt you._

 _We cannot kill the demon._

You feel your lips pull up a smile, the first in a long, long time. _No, but the golden man can.  
_

His head tilts to the side. The demon has left and now only the imps scurry around. The Soldier’s no longer exceedingly distressed. After a moment he nods. _Only if you come with me, most faithful one._

You close the space between you and lean your forehead against his, a mirror of the first time you vowed your allegiance to the broken, beautiful necromancer. _Always, my love.  
_

The necromancer seals the promise with a kiss and when you break apart, you’ve already begun singing for the lives of the lesser cretins around you.


End file.
